Fleshly
by Hoodoo
Summary: He's bitter, he's disfigured, he's gone mad . . . but Cobra Commander is still a man with needs . . .
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own G.I. Joe or its characters. No money made._

_Notes: I wasn't expecting to like G.I Joe: the Rise of Cobra, and now I regret not seeing it in the theater. I do, however, have a long standing attraction to Cobra Commander (mainly in part due to Chris Latta who voiced him in the original '80s cartoon, and revived again with Joseph Gordon-Levitt's portrayal in the film). Whether he's alien--which never made any sense--or deformed, he's still male, and there need to be more fics about him. Based on the 2009 movie, this is drabble in the sense I don't plan on continuing it . . . _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Fleshly**

"Commander—"

His gloved fingers barely paused on the touch screen in front of him. He thought the slight hesitation would be indication enough that he was listening, but to his annoyance nothing more was forthcoming. _She'd only been here a week, after all, and didn't yet know his ways . . ._

"What?" he finally prompted, fingers unmoving but kept in place.

"Do you find me desirable?"

_Women! Of all the unexpected questions to come from her mouth! He was a man, of course he found her desirable, and irritating, and . . . something else, something that he wished to quantify but could not, something that threw water on the flare of anger—_

"I can take any woman I want," he replied sharply.

"But has any woman taken you?"

He grimaced under his mask and closed his eyes, unaware she could see that small movement reflected on the monitor in front of him. _She was so bold! He was under no obligation to answer her—_

_—and yet he found himself picking through memories. What could he say? That before he became as he stood before her he'd had partners, few as they were? That since he'd become as he stood before her he'd wanted to, attempted to, had forced women to be bound and blindfolded so they wouldn't scream at his hideousness and make it worse, before coming to the realization that the contrived situations and their whimpers of fear made him impotent?_

_How could he possibly tell her he was Cobra Commander, one of the most feared and powerful men in the world, and he'd abstained because he was incapable of rape?_

"Commander," she repeated, and stepped closer behind him, closer into his personal space than he'd been afforded in a long time, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

_She dared touch him! Her audacity was astounding!_ The Commander opened his eyes and found himself staring into hers via the monitor.

He wanted to throw her off him, to twist and slap her hand away, to snap something suitably harsh and force her back. _He was Cobra Commander, and no one had the right to touch him!_

Instead he found himself licking his ruined lips under his mask. The warmth of her hand filtered unexpectedly through the neoprene of his suit, and he closed his eyes again.

Very slowly, very deliberately, she turned him on his heel. He complied.

As he turned, her fingers left his shoulder to slide down his arm. She watched her progress, he watched her face. At his wrist, she brought her eyes back up to his.

"May I?" she asked, just barely slipping a fingertip under the edge of his glove.

_He was Cobra Commander! He was Cobra Commander!_

He was too weak to disagree.

Carefully she removed his glove. Free, his fingers were cold; her hands around his were warm. He could only feel pressure on the back of his hand, but as she turned it palm side up and pulled her fingers across it he fairly jumped with ticklish sensation. _The surgeons could not restore his fingerprints but they worked hard to give him nerve endings in his fingertips and palms approximating what was normal to a real man—_

Embarrassingly, he did jump when she brought his hand up and kissed his first two fingers.

_He was Cobra Commander! He should stop this outrage—he was in control, he didn't need her pity—_

But he didn't see pity in her eyes as she raised hers to his face again. He saw dilated pupils, and a faint blush high on her cheekbones, and he wouldn't be much of a scientist if he didn't know the basic signs of arousal—

As her tongue separated the two digits, he heard a thin whine and realized it came from him. The sound was reedy and feeble. The flow of oxygen from his ventilator was constant but suddenly it didn't seem to be quite enough.

_He needed to stop her . . . this was his less damaged hand. His less damaged side. She hadn't hesitated, wasn't hesitating as she continued her kisses, but once she saw how he truly looked, how ruined his body truly was—_

By this time she had stepped closer again, still holding his hand but almost, almost pressed against his chest. He watched her study his mask.

"Will you . . ."

She stopped her own question and he watched her bite her lower lip. _She was so brash before; he found it hard to believe she would be timid now—_

She sucked the bitten portion of her lip into her mouth, nursing it. His fingers spasmed involuntarily, squeezing her hand quickly. _He would never make her believe it was an uncontrolled movement—_

"Will you let me kiss you?" she asked promptly.

Once again, he was not expecting such a question. And the involuntary spasm in his fingers must have been a precursor to this: untwining his hand from hers, reaching for the clasps, feeling them by habit, and depressing them to release the mask from his face. It was only as the fresh air chilled his forehead did he realize he hadn't consciously agreed to her request.

Now before her with only his customized ventilator between them, he again watched her examine his bare head. Her eyes lingered on the thin metal to each side, bolted to his skull. As her scrutiny grew, his eyes hardened. _If she dared flinch, if she dared give the most remote indication of horror, he would demonstrate his capacity for explosive violence and make her pay for exposing him to be vulnerable, for exploiting his weakness in being a man—_

But she didn't recoil or balk, she merely continued examining his scars. From the corners of his eyes he saw her hands come up passed his cheeks. In another moment he felt pressure on the sides of his head, above his damaged ears. A faint scratching filled his head as she worked her fingernails under the attachments that held his ventilator in place.

Seconds later, the equipment loosed off the bridge of his nose and pulled the skin near his mouth as its suction was broken.

She stood frozen, hands still holding it near his face, until it became obvious he wasn't going to move either. Then instead of letting it drop, she released the right side so it hung unevenly from her other hand. As it fell away from him, he took as big a breath as he was able.

Dull pressure began building in his lungs but before much time was lost, she moved against him and pressed her mouth on his. It was awkward, due to the half attached ventilator, but she tilted her head until it was almost comfortable and almost normal. He felt her tongue skim lightly over his lips and he opened them. Her tongue dipped just inside and touched his lower teeth.

His chronically dry mouth seemed to wick the wetness from hers. When her tongue met his, there was a slight stick between their movements. And as the pressure in his chest began to fill his head and he was forced to back away from her to jam the ventilator back into place, their lips were similarly glued for a second.

Hand over the hated but necessary ventilator, he remained immobile to allow it to work.

"You taste like ozone," she giggled. His eyes bore into hers again but she ignored the abrupt malice, taking his free hand once more and asking, "Are you okay?"

The sudden concern disarmed him. "I can't—" he rasped.

"I understand."

He wondered if that would be the end. He needed to think, needed to consider what was happening without being caught up in the moment. He began to tell her so, but she interrupted his dismissal by slipping her hand over his shoulder again and tugging him bodily downward toward her.

She kissed his right temple and told him close to his ear, "It's okay. It's not the only thing."

Her hand slid to the back of him and found the zipper closing his shirt. As nimble as her fingers were, she needed her other hand to free him from the close-fitting fabric. He allowed her to work, allowed her to undress him to the waist, including his other glove, then allowed her to examine his torso as she had his hand and head.

The patchwork of scars bore witness to the explosion of shrapnel and fire he'd been caught in; how he'd fallen curled into a fetal position as his clothes burned off him. Although his chest and abdomen had been almost spared of the initial injury, the surgeons needed skin to graft to the larger expanses of his body that sustained the most damage. The healed areas were pale and white, interspersed with pink and orange flesh.

"It's warm in here. I think I'll get rid of my shirt too . . . "

Her coyness didn't fool him. "Yes," he replied.

She took a step back to begin unfastening the first few buttons on her shirt. She glanced up and smiled at the expression on his face. "You'd like to help?"

He stepped up to her at the invitation, re-attaching his ventilator to its ports before briskly unhooking her remaining buttons. Quickly he pushed her blouse open, running his hands inside it to loosen it from her shoulders.

Before removing any other clothing he pulled the ventilator halfway from his face again and hurriedly kissed her. Her hands were cold on his back, holding him pressed to her. His mouth seemed less dry this time. Then, once again the strain of oxygen depletion began hammering through him. And once again she didn't seem offended when he yanked himself away to replace the machine.

She held his elbows and watched him refasten the black metal. He mentally dared her to say something again, but when she didn't, he growled,

"It's frustrating."

She nodded but said nothing more of it. Instead, she threw a glance around the room. "I've been here for a week. Is that your bedroom?"

She indicated the door to the right.

He gave a curt nod of his head. He wasn't surprised that she didn't wait for an invitation, but led him by the hand to the door. He was thankful that he had graduated back to a normal bed; he didn't believe his hyperbaric chamber would be especially conducive to this encounter.

Once inside his most restricted room, she didn't hesitate to strip of her pants and undergarments.

Laboring to keep his respirations under control, he told her to keep her heels on.

She laughed playfully and sank onto the bed, gesturing for him to come closer. As he stood in front of her, she swiftly relieved him of his own pants. He joined her on top of the blankets, but she didn't let him take control. He was permitted to touch her where he wanted, but not to position either of them—

"You're the Commander," she told him, "I'm doing all the work."

—and he let her.

She had him lay on his back, head on the pillows, as she worked her mouth over him. She kissed him everywhere on his front, from his chest to his thighs to slipping her tongue under the metal collar near his neck. He couldn't prevent his hands from touching her, squeezing her, and holding her in place when she finally paused at his groin.

Of course he was already erect. The surgeons had spent almost as much time here as they had on his hands, even gender reassignment specialists has been called in to repair the horrific damage he'd suffered in the blast. This most intimate area had come through the repairs like the rest of him: almost but not quite normal.

Against the ventilator's workings, he held his breath for a second. She didn't hesitate, and closed her mouth over him.

Had she continued with her mouth he wouldn't have had the fortitude to stop her. His breath was already a pant that threatened to become hyperventilation.

She didn't carry on with her mouth, however, just a few quick swallows before sitting back. She let him be for several seconds, until he was able to open his eyes again and focus on her. She waited until he reached for her again before straddling him.

His panting was already on the increase again as she took him in her hand and guided him into her.

Before she could move, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her down on top of didn't fight it, even as the metal from the equipment at his neck dug uncomfortably into her forehead.

She squeaked something next to his ear, but it was muffled against the vinyl and he could not make it out.

This new position didn't give her leverage to move or rock. He made up for it with furious vigor. His ventilator did not increase its respirations, even as he needed it to, so against his will he had to pause and allow his lungs to fill before continuing his barely controlled thrusts into her.

As much as she wanted to, he held her so tightly she still couldn't move. Attempting to grind her hips against his was difficult; with his abnormal pauses the rhythm was off and disconcerting. Finally she forced herself to be still, only readjusting the position of her head to relieve it from the pressure of his collar. She kissed the collarbone under her.

Even without being allowed to move as she wanted, his eagerness was stimulating and she cried out with each thrust.

The Commander, caught up in his own sensations, was only vaguely aware of her cries. His concentration was taken with the euphoria building slowly in his body, countered by the excruciating ache in his chest and head from decreasing oxygen. He almost had the capacity to wonder if orgasm or asphyxiation would take him first.

Then suddenly, before he was prepared, bright white light exploded in front of his eyes and he made some noise—not a bellow as he would have expected, but a rattling exhalation with the last of the air available in his lungs.

He must have blacked out, because it was several moments after the light blinding him disappeared that he released her.

She swung her leg over him and settled near his her hair out of her face_, _she curled an arm under her head and watched him.

With her weight off of him it was easier to pull in breaths. He gaped like a fish under his ventilator, trying desperately to regain equilibrium. He felt disconnected, almost floating, and very weak.

Unexpectedly he spasmed, startling her. The ventilator continued its mechanical workings, still mindless of his need for more.

"Commander? Are you okay?" she asked quickly.

He managed to meet her gaze, although it was through tunnel vision. She sounded very far away. Somehow, he nodded.

Another tremor bucked through him. She took one hand and squeezed it tightly. She propped herself up on her elbow and stoked the top of his head with the other. He had no strength to stop her from doing anything.

Very slowly, over several agonizing minutes, he was able to bring his respirations back to almost normal. He still felt frail and slightly faint.

They lay together silently. She continued rubbing his head.

Eventually she was the first to speak. "Thank you."

_She, thanking him? For being repulsive and desperate? He still didn't know if he'd passed out from orgasm or lack of oxygen—_

When he made no indication to reply, she made a move to leave the bed.

"You can stay here," he blurted. He meant it to sound authoritative but cringed internally that it came out pathetic.

With no hesitation she repeated the thanks. He took her hand again and pulled her back down next to him, and she relaxed against his disfigured body again.

_fin._


	2. Chapter 2

A second chapter, of sorts. I have a hard time trying to puzzle out the interactions between Dr. Mindbender and the Commander after the film. The Commander was trained and supervised by Mindbender, then he becomes Mindbender's superior . . . it's very interesting, very subtly odd. It's not the type of personal interaction that is depicted very often, and because of that, I like the potential for underlying tensions. It was easiest to play on what happened in the first chapter, so here we are.

Enjoy!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**2.**

Just as the first time they'd met, Dr. Mindbender had a way of sneaking up on him.

"Commander?" he said tentatively.

As his authority grew, so did his poise, and Cobra Commander did not jump as his former mentor addressed him from behind.

"Yes, Mindbender?" he replied without looking up from his handheld monitor.

The doctor stepped up into his field of view. "I've heard . . . Destro told me there is a new member on your staff."

The Commander flicked his eyes to the doctor. Interesting choice of words, he thought to himself, but he didn't believe Mindbender was glib enough to slip a double entendre into a question. Aloud he said sharply, "Is that what Destro said?"

Mindbender nodded, a nervous twitch of a movement. "He said it's a woman. She's been here for some time, but very few people have seen her."

Nodding his head in the direction of the work floor a small flight of stairs below his station, the Commander indicated towards the few people down below. As there was only one woman in the group, it was easy for Dr. Mindbender to determine whom the gesture was meant to single out. She was tapping something on the touch screen in front of her, frowning occasionally at her progress.

"She's pretty." Mindbender's voice was normally soft, and these two words were no exception. It was hard to tell if he was musing to himself or just making a statement.

The Commander turned fully to him and wondered if he'd underestimated the naïveté of his organization's psychiatrist.

Dr. Mindbender didn't face the Commander, but continued to study her as he said, "It's standard procedure for new members of upper management to visit me. So I can assess them and gauge their mental status. So it can determined if they are competent and able to handle the . . . stresses of the their position. So of course, in the end, I may help . . . ease their transition."

"I'm aware of your role, Doctor."

"And yet this woman has not graced my office."

It was a testament to his increased ego that he bristled at the slight admonishment. "No, she has not," the Commander snarled. "Standard procedure or not, it is _my_ decision alone whether she visits you."

Mindbender unhurriedly turned his gaze back to his superior. He dipped his head and was vaguely contrite. When the threat of hostility in the Commander didn't leave his body or his eyes, the doctor looked back to the work floor to avoid confrontation.

"Is she a scientist?" he asked, to change the subject.

"No. She's on the floor to learn our computer systems."

The doctor readjusted his glasses as he watched her. "And what is her value to our organization?"

The Commander barked a laugh that sounded choked from inside his helmet. If the good doctor thought he could so easily make him confess an intimacy . . .

"She has a unique ability. Several, to be truthful," the Commander replied. Dr. Mindbender could read from that what he wanted.

"Really?" The question from anyone else would have sounded skeptical.

"I'm not accustomed to being repeatedly questioned," he reminded the doctor.

Infuriatingly, Dr. Mindbender nodded slowly again as he turned to face the Commander again. "I apologize, Commander," he said, although it was in the same androgynous voice. "If she is so beneficial to . . . us, it would be wise to enroll her into the nanomite program. Then we can be assured her loyalty."

Mindless of the equipment on the table before him, the Commander slammed his palms down as he stood up. "No!" he bellowed.

Several of the people below, including her, jumped. Mindbender did not.

"I will not have her injected with nanomites," the Commander hissed. Although he was several inches shorter than the doctor, his anger made him a bigger presence, and Mindbender took an involuntary step backwards. "She'll be working in the field. She needs to be able to think on her own! Not be programmed to be a mindless drone!"

"Commander, these protocols are in place to ensure—"

"I said _no,_ Mindbender."

"Commander—"

"I have her loyalty, Mindbender," he interrupted. "Do you doubt me? After making it clear I wasn't happy with your attempted interrogation, you continue? _My word is law._ I trust her loyalty. She will not be injected with nanomites.

_"Is that clear?"_

"Yes sir." Finally, a trace of actual apology.

It wasn't enough to calm him. The Commander took a step forward, forcing the taller man back against the open railing. His voice became softer, but it carried more menace. "Right now, I'm questioning _your _loyalty. I'm concerned about _your_ allegiance. So I will make myself very clear. If you dare even think about defying me and decide—against _all_ better judgment—to try and inject her anyway, I will kill you, Doctor.

"Do you believe me?"

Dr. Mindbender's normally mild tone held a very faint tremor. If he hadn't been standing so closely, the Commander might have missed it. "Yes sir. I believe you."

"That's good, Dr. Mindbender," he replied affably, "I wouldn't want to have to make an example of one of my top people."

"No sir."

The Commander finally backed away, and found his seat again. "Was there anything more?"

Dr. Mindbender fought the urge to look at the woman once more, concerned that the simple movement would be misinterpreted and set his superior off again. "No. Nothing more. My door is always open, Commander, whenever you or . . . anyone else may need it."

Cobra Commander gave a slight nod of dismissal, and the doctor melted away.


	3. Chapter 3

A combination of things brought this chapter about. 1.) I was half watching _G. I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra_ the other day, and semi-wondering if a sequel was going to be green-lit; 2.) I had this little bit written a long time ago and never posted it; 3.) digging around on I realized I last posted a chapter to this story _one full year ago_; 4.) the dynamic between Cobra Commander and Dr. Mindbender in the film is still really, really hard to put a bead on. It_ fascinates_ me.

So here we are. Who's the woman? I don't know. At least now she has a bit of a name. This is just nother chapter-like entry for a story I don't ever intend on finishing.

* * *

A light tapping on his door interrupted him. Before he had the opportunity to get up and open it, the handle turned.

Halfway in the doorframe, silhouetted by the harsh hallway lighting, she asked,

"Dr. Mindbender?"

Frozen midway in the process of getting out of his chair, he managed an affirmative.

She stepped completely into his office and closed the door behind her.

"I was hoping to speak to you?"

The upward lilt at the end of her sentence made him feel slightly more at ease, and he stood up and came around the edge of his desk to her.

"Of course . . . that's what I'm here for."

She smiled, and he gestured to the chair nearby. He was very careful not to touch her.

* * *

Several weeks passed; a month, maybe? She'd visited his office on a semi-regular schedule. He also saw her around base, still learning the computers, being trained in some of the lighter hand weapons, and in hand to hand combat. Eventually he noticed she was accompanied by one of the Commander's Vipers, although he rarely saw her with the Commander himself.

He wondered if that was because he tended to skirt the Commander, or if the two had an agreement to be discreet.

In the end, however, he knew it was his duty to speak to his superior.

He'd casually asked her, as she readied to leave his office one day, where she was going. When she told him she was headed back to the firing range, he knew he would have ample time without worrying she'd interrupt.

She believed he adhered to doctor-patient confidentiality, so he had to maintain the façade, didn't he?

She bid him good-bye and left, not closing the door. Her Viper, who had waited patiently in the hallway, didn't make eye contact with him as he pushed himself off the wall and trailed after her.

Mindbender toyed with the idea of gleaning information from him too, then decided against it. His job was to counsel and assess higher ranks. Grunts had their own analysts. He didn't want to overstep his bounds.

Some days, when he wished to never encounter him, Dr. Mindbender's superior was one literal step behind him. Other days, it seemed that he couldn't locate the Commander to save his life.

Today was not one of those days.

"Commander? Sir?"

The Commander allowed his breath to drain out of him before turning to face the psychiatrist. The doctor stood at the door, wavering as to whether or not to come in uninvited.

"Yes, Doctor?"

He took that as an invitation and walked in.

"I was hoping to have some of your time . . ."

"Certainly."

A pleasant mood? Mindbender dared hope to himself. But pleasant moods turn sour quickly—

"Is there something specific you needed to address, or is this a random check-up on me?"

He forced a small laugh. "I wouldn't presume to check-up on you, Commander."

The Commander's dark eyes bore into his, but he seemed placated.

"I will admit my visit is of a . . . personal . . . subject," he continued, with hesitations.

"Oh?"

His training included studying body language: postures, gestures and the like. With the Commander's mask in place, it was impossible to read anything facial except near his eyes. However, the quick tensing in the Commander's torso belied the indifferent question. Mindbender watched the Commander force his tension down, although he didn't rid himself of it completely.

Like so many times, Dr. Mindbender pretended not to see it. "Yes," he said. "Recently I've had visits from . . . well, Chameleon is the code name she's chosen."

He'd rehearsed his opening line several times, trying to choose the least offensive way to say it. He wasn't happy he'd stumbled over what to call her, but he knew the Commander wasn't fond of using proper names. And he couldn't just come out and label her a mistress or something more crude to the Commander's face—not without swift retribution, and he wasn't willing to risk that.

He hoped the Commander wouldn't take his pause as a suggestion he meant to use a different word.

Instead, the remaining rigidity drained from his superior. "Of course you have," he said in a combination of boredom and confusion. "I sent her to you."

"You did?"

Mindbender hadn't expected that revelation, and frankly, it surprised him. Never once did she give the indication the Commander knew about her visits, let alone ordered them.

"Yes, I did. It's your job, isn't it?" the Commander asked in puzzlement. "You reminded me so yourself."

"Yes," Dr. Mindbender agreed, willing his voice not to quaver. This was an unexpected turn of events. He _did_ tell the Commander that, and for the mere suggestion of guaranteeing her service he was threatened with death. But he had no desire to draw attention to the Commander's selective memory. He steeled himself. "It is my job. Thank you for your confidence in me."

He received a nod.

"I wanted to discuss with you the visits I've had with her. If you have time . . .?"

Once again, he didn't miss the quick tightening of the man's body.

"I have time."

"Excellent!"

This was a more comfortable situation. He had a attentive audience who was eager to hear what he'd discovered. Much more at ease, he sat opposite the Commander and began to talk.

The Commander leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers as he listened. Two fingers on his left hand were still stiff from tendon damage and he automatically stretched them into position.

Dr. Mindbender's voice was a drone, but his observations were interesting enough.

"She's attentive and like most women, quick to smile whether or not it's appropriate for the situation," the psychiatrist was saying. "That tendency is beguiling, because she is, of course, an attractive woman."

The Commander noted the rush through the last part of the sentence and nodded very slowly.

Mindbender paused and took a breath before continuing. "There is something in her past that makes her want to please, possibly some type of trauma or coaching—"

"What is it?"

"I don't know," he replied. As the Commander's brow furrowed, he hurried to add, "I'm sorry."

Another nod, although this one was sharper.

"I've not had enough time one-on-one with her to find out specifics," he continued, inwardly cringing at the possibility his words would be assumed to be self-serving. "If you'd like, I can focus on that when I see her again?"

The Commander didn't reply, processing the pros and cons to Mindbender's question. He knew his pause unsettled the doctor, but didn't feel the need to relieve the anxiety he was causing.

"I've also studied her on base." The statement was blurted out unexpectedly.

Behind the metal mask, the Commander's eyes flicked up to his.

"Mindbender," the Commander thought to himself, almost amused, "you are a lecher."

Still he said nothing aloud, and let Mindbender struggle through. Under the piercing gaze the doctor rushed to clarify himself,

"I've studied her interactions with other people, Commander. She's . . . likable. She is willing to speak to. . . anyone, really. When she's being instructed on something she's very focused." Dr. Mindbender knew himself well enough to know he couldn't fake a sudden revelation. Instead, he simply asked the question that had occurred to him a while ago that she couldn't—or wouldn't—answer. "May I ask why a Viper has been assigned to be her personal guard?"

The Commander responded with a remote, "No," then countered with, "Why do you ask?"

Mindbender pushed his glasses back to a more comfortable position on the bridge of his nose. "I've noticed that some of the people she encounters aren't . . . necessarily respectful. I wondered if the Viper was for her safety or to lend weight to her position . . . "

He received no reply but the continued stare. He waved off his own question.

"It's not important," he stated off-handedly, then continued with his original assessment. "She is polite to everyone, although it's obvious she avoids the people who give her the most trouble. What is more interesting is that when she has the chance, she usually is able to win someone over. She plays innocent very well, but as I've watched her with your troops, I see she's very persuasive. There are definite undercurrents of manipulation from her."

These were traits he'd suspected, but it was good that a psychiatrist was able to confirm them.

"Is she as manipulative with women as she is with men?" he mused, half to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mindbender shrug. "You don't have as many women in your ranks as men. I've not seen her interact with them."

Again the Commander fell silent, thinking on the information.

"The manipulations aren't anything destructive," Mindbender added quickly, mistaking the latest pause in response from his superior as a negative. "It's a survival skill she's learned. Nothing more and nothing unexpected. In their own ways, everyone does it. It's just a matter of how apparent and dominant it is in a personality—"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," the Commander interrupted, unwilling to listen to him to blather on and possibly say something he'd regret. "Although my primary schooling wasn't in psychiatry, I understand the basics."

Mindbender nodded. "Of course."

"Is there anything more?"

The doctor shifted in his chair.

The Commander could tell there was more he wanted to say, could almost see the words struggling to leave his mouth. He could probably make an educated guess as to what the words were too: something along the lines of "she's a beautiful woman, women are attracted to power, men can be exploited, beautiful women can more easily exploit a powerful man if the man is—"

The Commander hoped the doctor was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

After a few seconds passed, Dr. Mindbender sank minutely in his chair. "There's nothing more, Commander."

Apparently, Mindbender did understand tact. "Good. You've done an excellent job. I expect nothing less from you," the Commander replied.

"Would you like me to continue to see her?" he asked. His voice was once again its normal mild monotone.

"If she wants. Of course, you can always report back to me anything important."

"Of course."

Dr. Mindbender watched the Commander become introspective; the transition on the small visible portions of his face was remarkably impressive. He knew without being told he was dismissed.

"Thank you for your time, sir," he said quietly, and wasn't offended when the Commander didn't reply but instead swung his chair away.

Dr. Mindbender made very little noise as he left the room.

* * *

Chameleon had discovered his left hand bothered him, and had taken to massaging it at night after they'd retired to his apartment. He would have never thought simple kneading and gentle straightening of the joints would help alleviate the pain, but he had to admit it did. Although he rarely thanked her for it, he allowed her to do it when she pleased.

Tonight as she warmed his fingers between her palms, his thoughts continually circled back to Dr. Mindbender's observations. None of it truly surprised him, with the exception of—

"Why didn't you tell Dr. Mindbender I sent you to see him?" he asked without preamble.

She shrugged and rolled his smallest finger—the one missing its tip—between hers. "He's a shrink. I thought he might treat me differently if he knew up front you sent me to him personally."

That was probably true, he agreed to himself.

She didn't add anything more, not even to ask how he knew she hadn't told Mindbender. She focused on his hand, and he watched her.

"_. . . attentive . . . persuasive . . . manipulative . . . attractive . . . focused . . ."_

Key words repeated themselves in his head. She'd just demonstrated her capacity to play harmless but be much more aware of what was going on than she would admit. He realized, not without some shame, that she'd done it to him, then told himself he didn't care. Did Mindbender know she had, in a subtle way, manipulated him? By not being forthright with the psychiatrist, she had slyly maintained some control of the situation.

"_. . . attentive . . . persuasive . . . manipulative . . . attractive . . ."_

It would be interesting to see the reaction she would give if she found out that Mindbender now knew about her little deceit.

"_. . . attentive . . . persuasive . . . manipulative . . ."_

The Commander put the thought of placing a bug on her in the back of his mind. It definitely had merit, but it wasn't overly important at the moment.

"_. . . persuasive . . . manipulative . . ."_

One of the reasons he commanded the world's largest terrorist organization was his ability to see the potentials of situations and people. He could expound on opportunities as they presented themselves, and he wasn't timid about exploiting whatever presented itself, all for the common goal of world domination.

" _. . ._ _manipulative . . ."_

"I think I have a job for you," he said so abruptly he wheezed as the ventilator pulled the last bit of breath from him before he finished the sentence.

"Hmm?" she asked, looking him in the face. "This isn't good enough for you?"  
Her massage continued but included a slight squeeze.

The Commander smiled under the vinyl hiding the lower half of his face. She returned it when she saw it reach his eyes.

"That is very important, Cham," he replied mock-seriously. "But what I have in mind will benefit us much more."

"Sounds intriguing. Do tell."

Her tone was flirtatious, and once again he told himself he didn't care if she was manipulating him. He knew about it, and that meant he was in control. He was in control. He was in control, and her coquettish behavior didn't affect him unless he wanted it to.

And right now he did want it to, so he muttered they would speak of it later before pushing her to her back on the cushions. She laughed and then giggled that his ventilator tickled her. Instead of kissing her, he slid the vinyl equipment near her ear, near her neck, and smiled underneath it as she continued to laugh at the sensations caused by its steady rhythm.


End file.
